


The Funeral

by CatSamwise



Series: Lightning Over Dromund Kaas [7]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, Real Dark, Revenge, The Dark Side of the Force, Violence, Wakes & Funerals, original storyline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 22:16:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20365993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatSamwise/pseuds/CatSamwise
Summary: Sargent Rycus Quinn died in battle. His family hold a funeral in his honor on Dromund Kaas.Should be read as part of theLightning Over Dromund Kaasseries.





	The Funeral

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in the year 3628 BBY.
> 
> **Warning: Contains heavy violence.** This is going to be very dark – you were warned…

It was raining outside of the crematory in Kaas City. It was always raining, but this day the rain was thick, and cold, and so dense one couldn’t even see the lightning. The thunder still rolled across the sky and shook the people on the ground.  


This was to be the last service for the day. The last of a long list of military services after the attack of the mysterious army on Korriban. Many soldiers died then, and many more would until this threat would be eliminated.  


The name on the plaque was “Sargent Rycus Quinn”, and in attendance were both civilian mourners as well as several military representatives.  


The officiator was about to close the doors and commence the service when another man stepped through. He wore Imperial Navy uniform, as oppose to the Army one worn by the rest of the attendance. He also outranked most of the soldiers present, his rank plate indicating he was a Commodore.  


The officiator was about to comment to the stranger that he might have entered the wrong room, when his eyes fell on the plaque commemorating the fallen soldier. The resemblance between the Commodore, and the fallen was unmistakable – the same nose, the same mouth, the same broad shoulders, even the same gaze although the eye color was different. The officiator said nothing and closed the door.  


It became apparent that other people did not have the same self-restraint as the officiator. A woman, looking to be in her fifties, her make-up smeared from crying, rushed from the front of the room straight at the newcomer. She must have been at least pretty, once, but lines of worry, and perhaps too many stiff drinks have turned her unremarkable, and in that instance, she just looked furious.  


“How dare you!” she screeched. “How dare you show your face here?!”  


Everyone in attendance turned to look at the man, on the sound of her voice. The Commodore, in his turn, remained completely detached. His face was set impassively, his blue gaze hard, and cold. He made no answer to the woman’s cries, nor did he leave.  


“Get out!” the woman continued to yell, almost sobbing. “Get out of here!”  


The man did not make a move, just continued to regard her coldly.  


The people in the room started to murmur amongst themselves. The civilians throwing angry glances at the lone Navy man, while the soldiers frowned at the display.  


Then one of the soldiers stepped forward. He was a tall man, with broad shoulders, and large arms. His dark brown hair was cropped short, his grey gaze intelligent. He wore the insignia of a Lieutenant, most probably the late Sargent’s commanding officer.  


“Ma’am,” the Lieutenant addressed the woman. “There is no need to cause a scene. This is a military funeral, and all military personnel are encouraged to pay respect to our fallen.”  


The woman stopped shrieking, glared at the Lieutenant but did not say another word. She turned and went back to the front of the room.  


The Lieutenant saluted the Commodore. “Lieutenant Isaleo Butcri, sir! Korriban Defense Battalion, Red Platoon, sir!”  


The Commodore waved him off. “At ease, Lieutenant. No need for all that here.”  


The Lieutenant eased into parade-rest. “It is an honor to meet you, sir. I was Sargent Quinn’s commanding officer. He was an exceptional soldier.” He stopped for a moment and looked at the Commodore. “He never gave any indication about you…”  


The Commodore shook his head. “That hardly matters anymore. Please return to your men. Let us commence with the ceremony.”  


After that there were no more interruptions. The woman who had cried out before, and turned out to be the dead soldier’s mother, was been consoled by two other relatives. The Commodore had stayed at the back of the room and said nothing for the whole ceremony. The soldier’s teammates gave him the proper final respect, as per the Imperial Military protocol.  


Once the ceremony itself was finished, the officiator scurried from the room. These large mourning parties could stay in the hall for hours after the ceremony itself was finished. There was no need for him to linger.  


As the officiator left, Commodore Quinn finally walked from the back of the room to the ceremonial dais. He stopped in front of it, took up parade-rest, and stilled. He gazed unseeing in front of him, lost in his own thoughts, and grief.  


After a moment, though, he became aware of a presence to his side. He turned, and found a young woman standing beside him. She was shorter than him, with dark blonde hair, and green colored eyes. She wore mourning shrouds, which made her already pale skin look even paler. She looked nervous.  


“Sir,” she said hesitantly. “My name is Parmiy. I am – was Rycus’ wife.”  


Commodore Quinn turned to face the young woman fully. His eyes roamed her features for a moment, before he regained control of himself.  


Parmiy didn’t seem to notice, she clutched her shirt in her left hand. “I’m sorry to meet you like this. I know that Rycus was in contact with you. I was so happy he was starting to mend things with you.” The girl’s voice broke, fresh tears started to roll down her face. “I’m so sorry…”  


Commodore Quinn put a hand on Parmiy’s shoulders. “It’s fine,” he started to say, but she shook her head to stop him.  


“There is so much he never got to say to you. And now he never will…”  


The Commodore squeezed her shoulder. “I know. Thank you for approaching me.”  


Still, Parmiy shook her head. “You don’t understand.” She averted her eyes, looking down.  


Commodore Quinn followed her gaze and saw a head full of black hair picking from behind Parmiy’s skirt. The child was no more than five years old, perhaps even younger. He had his mother’s eyes, but his hair was the same as his father.  


“We named him Rymar,” Parmiy told him quietly.  


There was nothing else to be said in that moment.  


They would have stood silently in front of each other for several minutes had a new commotion not started at the entrance of the hall.  


It quickly became apparent that some Sith’s personal guard had entered the room and monitored all those who wished to leave the room. Only those of military affiliations were permitted to leave, which caused a panic, and a surge among the civilian mourners.  


But the surge stopped once the Sith in charge showed himself, it was in fact the Lord Wrath. He wore full body armor in black, including a featureless face-mask. The aura of power exuded him in waves, so that even the Force-blind civilians felt his power. All present cleared from the Lord Wrath’s path as he walked unhurried to the front of the room.  


Commodore Quinn didn’t even look up at the Sith’s entrance, still looking intently at Parmiy, and her son. Parmiy, herself, looked frightened. She had taken the child into her arms and was clutching him to her chest, looking at the Lord Wrath fearfully.  


Lord Wrath came to a stop a foot behind the Commodore, adopting a relaxed stance, and crossing his arms. The latter still hadn’t turned to face him.  


“My lord,” the Commodore said, his voice tight, and controlled, clearly heard in the silence that stretched through the hall. “This is Parmiy Quinn, and her son. She has approached me to share the grief in her husband’s, my son’s, passing.”  


Only after he finished speaking did the Commodore finally turned to look at the Sith. His gaze was determined. He did not bow or placate him in any way.  


This Lord Wrath tilted his head. “I see.” The Sith’s voice sounded hollow, and mechanical through the filters of his mask. There was no way to gauge emotions or intonations. He regarded Parmiy for a long moment then spoke, “Child, leave this room, and never look back. Leave Kaas City, even the Dromund System. Take a new name. Forget your life as it has been. Never utter the name “Quinn” again. Remember this as my kindness to you.” The Sith turned to look at the guards at the door. “Let this woman, and her child pass.”  


Parmiy’s eyes widened, her mouth formed an O of surprise then understanding dawned. She bowed to him, still clutching her son to her chest. “Thank you, my lord,” She said, and rushed to flee the room.  


When the door closed behind the girl the Sith turned to the Commodore, “So, where do we start?”  


But before the Commodore could make a reply, Lorell Quinn, the fallen soldier’s mother, stepped forward. “My lord,” she started to say but was abruptly interrupted as she rose in the air, clutching at her neck, trying to breathe.  


“Don’t you dare speak to me, you sorry piece of snake filth,” the Sith hissed at her. After a moment of watching the woman dangle in the air, the Lord Wrath released her, and Lorell collapsed on the floor at his feet, breathing hard.  


“Look at me!” the Lord Wrath demanded, and Lorell lifter her eyes, looking shaken. Her gaze flickered momentarily to the Commodore, who had come to stand by his side, but she daren’t disobey the Sith.  


In the meantime, the Lord Wrath had lifted his hands to the clasps of his mask, and helmet, and was removing them one by one. Once he finished, he removed it all, exposing his face.  


What was revealed was that the Lord Wrath was in fact a female. Her auburn locks were neatly gathered in a crown around her head, her features were small, almost delicate, while her lips were red and plump in her dark skin. Her eyes were a blazing fury, their yellow color making her look even more dangerous.  


“You!” Lorell breathed, unable to stop herself, as she started to back away from the Sith, and the Commodore.  


“Yes, me. Your former husband’s new wife, aren’t you surprised?” the Lord Wrath smiled, bearing her perfect white teeth, following the crawling figure. “Did you not think he would recover? Did you think that no one would notice? He deserves so much better than _you_, and he now has me.”  


Lorell reached a wall, she had nowhere else to flee. She huddled on her knees, and trembled. “Please, what do you want?”  


The Lord Wrath straightened, towering over the cowering woman, and laughed. “What do I want? Revenge. I will take your sorry excuse of a life, but you will suffer, and it will take such a very long time. Won’t it, my dear?” the last she said, turning her head towards the Commodore.  


Commodore Quinn had followed the Lord Wrath and was standing a mere foot away. Once he was addressed he bowed his head, “Certainly, my love.”  


A gasp run through the remaining crowed in the hall, and Lorell shuddered. But neither the Lord Wrath nor the Commodore seemed to care.  


“Restrain her,” the Lord Wrath waived her hand in Lorell’s direction, and two of her personal guards came to stand on either sides of Lorell, holding her down. The Lord Wrath turned to her husband, her eyes dancing in excitement. “Where shall we start?”  


“I would suggest to start with the distant cousins,” Commodore Quinn answered her casually, as if discussing the weather. “I had the least contact with them.”  


“Lead the way,” the Sith said with a smile. She took her lightsabers in her hands and ignited them. The Commodore un-holstered his blaster.  


In the first few moments, the gathered people did not understand what the Sith, and the Commodore were talking about. But then the Commodore shot the first man and the Sith cut through the second and a full panic broke through the hall.  


Everyone tried to flee, but there was no place to run – all the exits were blocked by the Lord Wrath’s guards, the Commodore, and the Sith were systematically cutting down every single person in the hall. Eventually some had tried to fight, but it was to no avail.  


The Lord Wrath, and Commodore Quinn stood in the middle of the ceremony hall and looked at the state of the place. Bodies and body parts were everywhere. Blood covered the floor, and large parts of the walls and ceiling. Both were breathing hard from the exercise and adrenaline.  


The Lord Wrath looked at her husband, and grinned. “There’s just one more thing to do,” she said.  


Commodore Quinn holstered his blaster, smoothed a hand through his hair, and nodded. They both turned to look at the place where Lorell was still held by the two guards.  


She was in a sorry state. She had screamed herself hoarse throughout the massacre and was now sobbing. Her sleeves were torn where she had tried to fight the guards holding her. Her face was covered in tears, and snot.  


The Lord Wrath approached her, her lightsabers still drawn. Commodore Quinn was a step behind her.  


“Look at me!” The Lord Wrath demanded, but Lorell just sobbed harder. The Lord Wrath gestured with her hand, and one of the guards yanked on Lorell’s hair to lift her head.  


“Before I finally kill you I’ll tell you a secret,” the Wrath said in a mock sweat voice. “Everything that happened here is your fault. Had you treated Malavai well, had you not poisoned your son’s mind against his father, none of this would have happened. Just a little thought to take to your grave.”  


With those words the Wrath cut through the woman’s body with her saber. Lorell screamed in agony, and the Wrath laughed. Another cut, then another scream. After the third cut, Lorell slumped, her body listless. The Lord Wrath cut her head from the body for good measure anyway.  


Commodore Quinn placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder. The Lord Wrath shut off her lightsabers and turned to him. Quinn pushed a stray hair from her face and pulled her towards himself. They embraced, and he whispered into her hair, “It’s done, it’s all over.”  


“I know,” the Wrath smiled into his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> Right, so I came back from the ether... This is a combination of a review I got recently as well as some computer late spring-cleaning... I found these on the hard drive and decided to post *shrugs* 
> 
> Comments make my day :)


End file.
